The Man Behind The Mask
by xXxCapcom-LadyxXx
Summary: Who is the real man behind the mask? Is he a man or a monster? One-Shot. Rated M for sexual content. Reviews welcome and appreciated.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, nor any of the characters used in this story. This is a non-profit piece, written purely for fun and entertainment for other Fanfiction readers and writers.

**The Man Behind The Mask**

**Rating: M, for sexual content.**

_**Note: This piece is set just after Christine removes the Phantom's mask on stage, the Phantom sets the Opera House on fire and takes Christine down to his lair. This is my alternative ending.**_

Soft, satin sheets surrounded her body, hiding her pale face. Brown curls spread over the pillows. Atlast, she opened her green eyes to the world around her.

Her dream has been so strange. Flames had engulfed the Opera House. _Where is Raoul_? She thought. She wanted to call out to him in the darkness. _Was he ok_?

"Christine?"

Was the voice real or inside her head? It was not Raoul's. The voice was deeper, yet softer and raspier. She sat up to observe it's owner. He was sat infront of an organ, situated close to her bed. His shirt was half-torn open, doused in sweat. His face...she could not describe it. She had seen it before, but it hadn't seemed real to her. Half-destroyed on one side, rough and scarred, it looked sore to the eye. She let out a sharp gasp.

"Do not be afraid."

_Do not be afraid?_ She looked down at her clothing. She remembered now. She ran her fingers over the fine cloth, over the seductive clothing that he had placed her in, when she performed like a puppet for his rendition of _Don Juan Triumphant_. She had exposed him, humiliated him; yet, he was calm as could be.

" Did you rest well?"

She couldn't reply. She could only think of Raoul. _Where was he_? Suddenly, the man rose from his seat and approached her. As he neared her, a small smirk of satisfaction spreading across his lips, her courage returned.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked softly, "Where is Raoul?"

The smirk faded from his face.

"Your lover will not be coming. As for you, you have come here to finally serve your purpose."

"I did not come here for anything. You brought me here against my will!"

He ran his fingers down her pale cheek,

"No, you have come here. You have come here to be my muse, and my voice, and my life companion."

Her eyes could not leave his face. That distorted face. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, hoping that he would vanish.

"You cannot even look at me." He said coldly. His hand cupped her chin and he forced her face back towards him.

"Look at me." He commanded, "Look at me. The more you look at me, Christine, the more you will grow to love me."

She tried. She struggled. Slowly but surely, his disfigured face became less frightening. The small smile returned to his face.

"Touch me." He asked quietly, "Touch me, Christine. Feel that I am human. I am no monster. I am a man. And I want to feel the sweet touch of your hand."

He gently took her hand, signalling for her to rest it on the spoiled side of his face. She came to rest it there, shaking slightly with fear. Her fingers stroked the scars and the blemished skin. Surprisingly, it was not so rough to the touch. He was warm and inviting. But she could not stop her shaking. Slowly, turning his head to the side, he laid his lips upon her palm, calming her trembling nerves.

"See?" He began, turning to meet her eyes again, "My lips are not the cold touch of a demon. They are the warm touch of a man, a man longing for love."

He took both of her hands into his, clutching them tightly.

"You can give me that love, Christine. You can free me from loneliness."

"What must I do to be free again?"

He paused for a moment, before speaking again, "You must promise to stay with me for the rest of your days." His tone was serious and imposing. Christine snatched her hands back, horrified.

"No! I can't do that!"

"I understand that love cannot always be there from the start. But in time...in time, Christine..."

"You can't make me!"

"In time," He continued, as if he had not heard her, "In time, you may grow to love me with so much passion and feeling, that we become almost inseparable."

She launched herself from the bed, stepping away from him and fell back onto the seat of the organ.

"No," She repeated, a lump forming in her throat, "No...no, please, you can't do this."

"It is already done. You wear my ring upon your finger."

Christine looked down to see the sparkling rock.

"No, this is Raoul's engagement ring. I am to be married to him very shortly."

"Can you be so sure of that? Why don't you look again?"

She raised her hand to inspect the diamond. _Of course, this was Raoul's ring. Wasn't it?_ No, the detail was slightly different. And the diamond set in the band was slightly bigger.

"Where is my other ring?" She demanded.

"Why? Do you not like my ring? Shall I exchange it for another?"

The lump in her throat became too much to bear. Small tears began to swell up on the inside of her eyes, until she could not hold them in no longer. She reached out and grabbed the white shirt of her captor,

"Please!" She pleaded, "Please. I cannot stay here. This is not my life."

"Of course it is." He replied coldly, "Now, I must ask something of you."

Her head fell into her hands.

"What would that be?" She said, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor around her feet.

He knelt down infront of her and cupping her jaw again with his palms, he raised her head back up to see her. Tracing her rosy lips with his thumbs, he spoke once again,

"I have felt the joy of your touch, the warmth of your hands. But I have yet to experience the feeling of your lips."

Her heart began to race inside her bosom. _Surely, she was not going to kiss this man_? Her sobbing increased.

"Please," He continued, "Please, let me enjoy that sensation. Let me savour it with every moment that your lips are upon mine. Please...Christine..."

Whether it was out of fear, or sheer pity, Christine controlled her sobs. Moving herself closer to him, she placed her lips near him, yet she held back.

"Christine...", he whispered, his breath brushing against her, "Let me. Let me feel you."

She edged closer, until their lips connected. His touch was strange, a mixture of perfection and fault. Smooth, unblemished skin mingled with the roughness of his flawed side. Yet, he felt wonderful to her. She couldn't explain it. She felt his hands clasping the sides of her arms, gently running over her tiny shoulders. The kiss seemed to last forever. Finally, she pulled back, witnessing that his lips were still slightly puckered, and his eyes were still closed. He opened them slowly,

"Christine...", he whispered softly, "I must have more of you."

Her own eyes widened with horror. She rose from her seat, towering over him,

"No! You requested one thing from me. I did as you asked!"

Still on his knees, he flung his arms around her legs and pulled her towards him, pressing the distorted side of his face against her dress. He screwed his eyes shut, tightly,

"Please, my love, I did not mean to offend you. I simply wanted to kiss you again." He looked up at her, and she was peering down at him, "Forgive me, I mean you no harm."

The anger in her chest calmed itself. This time, he stood up and once again, he was towering over her, peering down into her beautiful, green eyes. He took control of the situation, moving in and pressing his lips against hers once again. His kiss was more vibrant, more fervid, more intense than before. He pulled Christine closer to his chest, his hands all over the back of her corset. His indecent actions caused her to violently pull away from him,

"Stop this," She demanded, "Stop your wandering hands! You have no right to touch me there."

He came towards her, arms raised to comfort her.

"I am so sorry, my love. I do not know what came over me. The sensation was far too powerful."

Once he had composed himself, his tone became serious once again,

"Change out of that attire, at once. And dress into your night clothes."

"That won't be necessary. I won't be staying." There was no bravado in her voice, nor in her actions.

"I believe you will," His hand gestured over to reveal a long, white gown in the corner of the room, fixed perfectly on a mannequin, "I took the liberty of bringing your things to your new home. Now, please change."

His tone was quiet, yet threatening. What choice did she have? She could only wait it out and hope that Raoul would appear, to save her from this man. Perhaps she would wait in vain.

* * *

A short time later, Christine returned, clothed in her white, lace nightgown. The Phantom was seated at his organ, playing a sweet melody. She approached him from behind, resting her hands on his shoulders. He ceased playing, not turning to face her, but instead, he rested one hand on hers,

"I am writing a new opera." He said. Christine merely nodded. "It's about a man, a lonely man, who finally gets what he deserves. He finally wins the heart of the woman. The rest of their days are filled with happiness. And then they can die peacefully."

The last part of his sentence unnerved her. Suddenly, fear rose up inside of her again.

"_They _can die peacefully?"

"Yes. Having lived all their lives side-by-side, it seemed only natural that they should end their lives together. Like _Romeo and Juliet_, only neither one of my players takes their own lives."

Christine rushed to change the subject, "I changed."

His eyes remained on his sheet music. He tightened his grip on her hand,

"Christine...since we are to be married, I must ask you."

"Yes?"

"Tonight...tonight, I want to indulge in that mortal sin."

"Excuse me?"

He rose from his seat and made his way over to the bed, resting his hand on the bedpost.

"Tonight, I want to...experience the very essence of mortal touch. You see, whilst you were away changing, I thought about it. It is true, Christine. I do not merely want _more_ of you," He turned back and presented himself infront of her,

"I want _all_ of you." He whispered.

She backed away from him.

"Christine, I wish to take you as my wife, and in doing so, take your mind, body and soul. We shall become one. I will set your soul and body on fire, and in return, you may also bring me the essence of touch. For too long, I have desired physical pleasure with another being. Now, I wish to share those moments with you."

The tears...they were coming again.

"Christine, why do you look so sad? As my wife, there is nothing wrong with allowing me, as your husband, to touch and explore your body."

"No," She mumbled, "I won't do it. My body belongs to myself and to Raoul!"

"Quite the contrary. As my wife, your body belongs to yourself and to me."

"I am not your wife. So please, stop referring to me as if I am."

"Not yet. But soon, my love."

He embraced her in his arms, as she fought to break free. But he was too strong. She sobbed into his chest, silently wishing and praying that Raoul would come and free her himself.

"You cannot force me." She uttered.

"I do not want to force you. I do not wish to make you unhappy. As your angel, I know deep down inside that you have longed for this too."

As her intense struggling subsided, he released his grip a little. His hands could feel the slim outline of her figure under her white nightgown. He rested his hands on her waist.

"I know you have dreamt of this." He whispered gently against her ear, "I know you have longed to touch me, and for I to touch you. You _want_ this. And you want me. Christine...I want you too. Give into this passion. It's fine to be a little afraid of the unexpected. But I am here to comfort you. Your angel will not abandon you."

He planted a light kiss on her exposed neck. The sensation was extraordinary. Had she had any nervous thoughts beforehand, they were slowly melting away with every passing word he spoke. Had he convinced her that she really _did_ want him? No. She had known all along. He was such a hypnotic and charismatic man, that she could almost forgive his distorted face. She pulled back to observe his features. This time, she could not see the deformed demon from before. Instead, she was looking into the face of an angel, who was prepared to defend her and cherish her. He was prepared to unlock her inner passions and ignite the cold fires within her heart. She passionately kissed him back, going against all she had thought and felt before.

"Yes, Christine," He whispered, "That's it. Give yourself to me. I want to consume you."

* * *

Soft, satin sheets surrounded her body, hiding her pale face. Brown curls spread over the pillows. Yet, this time, it was no dream. The Phantom was peering into her eyes, deep into her soul. His bare chest was exposed and pressed against her gown. The bottom of her gown was lifted to just below her most private of areas, revealing her pale legs. The Phantom continued to kiss her, all over her forehead, eyelids, cheeks and neck. Christine spoke atlast,

"Take me," She whispered, "I am ready."

"Oh, Christine..." He moaned, "Consume me, and take me into your world of ecstasy."

Against all the odds, she allowed him to enter her body, feeling the harshness against her inner walls. Now he was the figure that was trembling, illuminated by the glowing candelight. He moved with such ease, such gentleness, that he stirred her own body. They moved together with elegance. His breathing was shallow. He rasped against her ear, giving a little nip to her neck. Her hand clung to the back of his neck, the other clutching the satin sheets. Her thighs closed in around him, as she raised her legs higher. Their movement increased, as did his depth. Her mouth hung open in awe and wonder. She had not taken him to her world; _he_ had pulled her into his, into his tiny world of ecstasy. And she was quite content to stay there with him. The fire inside of them burned brighter than the fires of the Opera House above their heads.

His movements were powerful. His figure was strong, yet not demanding. And the pleasure was unbelievable. Christine controlled him subtly, forcing him to hold back and prolong their sweet sensations. He could not contain the joy he was feeling, the joy of experiencing physical pleasure with this beautiful woman. In their short time together, this lady had learned to accept him for himself. She had learned to look past his physical deformity and to see the true nature of the man behind the mask.

With his speed at its fullest, he drove home the finishing blow, ending their intimate act. The intensity of pleasure was indescribable for Christine. She simply held onto her Phantom, feeling every inch of him, every curve of his physique. After some time had passed, he spoke to her again,

"Christine...my wife," He whispered, "You have given me the greatest wedding gift of all."

"I am yours, my love," She replied, caressing his face in the darkness, "And you are mine."

As they lay in silence, admiring one another after the heat of their act, their sweet moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of chaotic noises and voices in the distance. The Phantom was the first to leave the bed, pulling his pants up comfortably and collecting his white shirt on the way. Christine pulled the satin sheets up around her torso. The voices were growing louder. The Phantom returned to a worried Christine,

"My love, we must leave this place. I fear for your safety."

Christine, still in her nightgown, shuffled off the bed to find her matching white shoes.

"Why?" She stated, as she was slipping them on in a hurry, "What is happening?"

He rushed over to comfort her, taking her in his arms,

"They are coming. The real monsters are coming. They are coming to take you away, Christine. Raoul will claim you as his own, like you are a mere price to be won, and they will have me locked away like a mad and dangerous beast. We will be separated forever."

"No!" She yelled, slamming her palms against his chest, "Please don't let that happen. I couldn't bear the thought of being away from you. Not now."

He placed a soft kiss on her lips, "Not to worry. I will protect you from them. But for me to do that, we must leave. We must leave _now_."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the main entrance of his lair. He could hear the approaching army of vengeful theatre staff, wading their way through the water. The anger in their voices was enough to spare him on. He had to save Christine. Taking a small statue from the side of the lair, he pulled a draping, black sheet from over a mirror and smashed it, revealing a hidden exit. Christine inspected it,

"Where does this lead?" She asked.

"To freedom."

Taking her hand once again, he kissed her cheek,

"Trust me, my love. I promised you. Your angel will never abandon you."

She gave him a smile, before being led through the exit to safety, the voices of the staff fading out further and further behind them.

* * *

Meg Giry had come with only one purpose; to rescue Christine from the clutches of the Phantom. Yet when she arrived with the other members of the mob, she was surprised to find the room empty. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that Christine's belongings were still present in the lair, but there was no sign of anybody.

She entered the bedroom. The satin sheets were creased, fumbled and had been pulled back. In the centre of them, there was a small pool of blood. Meg could only draw up her own conclusions of the events that took place that night. As she turned to leave the room, she noticed sitting on its own, bathed in the warmth of the dying candelight, was a lone, white mask.


End file.
